понедељак, 18. септембар 2017.

I tried to pretend nothing has
changed. All I can see now was always there, I was just not paying attention to
it, like with those worms in cherries. So, one evening I prepared a beautiful velvet,
short dress, in rich red wine color, and toyed with the idea to pair it with suede
boots in the same color. Hold these clothes for some time in hands as if I intended
to wear it, then put them back in the closet. Icy wind was beating against the
blinds and I was absolutely and totally sober. Several times I reached for a
bottle of whiskey, but every time I'd spilled it back into the bottle. Cherries
syndrome. As a punishment, I was sober. Finally, I decided for tight but warm, black
trousers, knee high white boots and body hugging, soft, shaggy white sweater.
That was actually my ski outfit from previous winter. Refusing to look in a
mirror, I frenetically put some lipstick thinking all the time what it could
contain. With trembling hands I made my hair and dressed like that decided to
go to disco. I did not want to see "Moonlight" disco not even on a postcard
anymore, so I decided for "Jupiter". I regretted my choice of clothes
as soon as I entered the main hall. It was like in a sauna in there. Sweat was
pouring down my back and thighs, creating unsightly dark patches under the
armpits. It looked like I have mistakenly landed in Cairo instead of Rekjavik.
Around me almost naked girls were dancing swinging hips and bare breasts, and though
like few weeks ago I was one of them, I could not help but wonder what this fertility
dance actually means but to lure lustful glances from males who were in obvious
minority, sitting in booths, each with a bottle of some alcohol in hand. Nausea
and weakness from several days of fasting made me to withdraw into a corner and
back slid down the wall to a crouching position. Noise was unbearable and I
hated disco strobe-lights. I tried to get up in order to get to exit and escape
from this hell but bumped into obstacle in the form of short but bulky creature
with smoothly shaved head. He smelled of stale sweat, with stained black
T-shirt, several gold chains around his neck and starred at me.

- "You’ll right?" – he
mumbled looking at me like I am some kind of artifact.

- "No" –I panted
barely- "I have to go."

- "Well you’re stuffed as if
you’re going to North Pole. Wanna some drink to put you in mood? "

- "No, thank you" -I
said, although experience taught me that simple refusal is never enough with
guys like him. I tried to get away and get lost in the crowd. Mistake.

- '' Where are you goin’? I asked
nicely to have a drink. You should be nice to me when I am offering to pay you
drink. You look sick anyway. "

- "Let me go!" - I said
almost desperately. I was very tired. Without alcohol-crutch in that terrible
smoky and overheated atmosphere of a pressure cooker, all I wanted was to get
out. All around me were shiny buttocks in tiny, delicate panties and little
skirts. Absurd as it is, but these clothes revealed more than complete nudity. I
started to get seriously dizzy.

- You don’t talk to me like that,
bitch! "- creature armed with gold chains and big hands slammed me against
the wall. I could feel his greasy hands penetrating under my shirt. I could
scream and kick and no one would hear me in deafening noise and darkness. He
could have killed me and no one would notice anything until everyone left and cleaning
team in the morning would find my body lying in a pool of my own blood. I
looked him in the eyes, but they revealed nothing, just emptiness. He reached
with his hand into my pants.

- "You women are all the
same, just want money," –he snarled in my face- "If I was loaded, you
would not play hard to get. You can dress up like a nun, but you still want one
thing do you? "

He tried to look strong and
powerful, poor bastard, but to me he looked like a miserable, sweaty and drunk
bunch of meat with quite modest intellectual abilities, heated hormones that were
blocking his remaining brain function. His empty-minded view of this situation almost
caused me to burst out laughing, but then he probably would have thrust knife
in my stomach. And he surely had a knife, they all did. I was limp and silent
until he relaxed a little and his hormones rendered him helpless, then hit him in
the testicles with my knee as strong as I could. He screamed in high pitch, like
a girl, and immediately fell to his knees. I laughed nervously, pushed him away
and hurried toward the exit. As I struggled through the crowd, a few of his clones
tried to stop me, using virtually the same approach. One girl hugged me and
tried to kiss me with her intoxicating alcoholic lips, female flesh rippled
around me like a jelly, bare and smelling of pheromones. Hands were pulling me back,
slippery with sweat. At one point, someone kicked me in the back, and almost knocked
me down. One man whose advances I refused even slapped so hard that blood poured
from my nose and leaked on white sweater. I was thinking how I'm going to wash
it off while I worked my way toward the exit. It was hard to believe that not
so long ago, going out like this was truly enjoyable.

среда, 06. септембар 2017.

I woke up to the light of day,
which came through the tall windows of the foyer, and waited for someone to
open a disco and let me escape, which happened later that afternoon. I managed
to escape unnoticed, stumbling through the snow, cold and starving, walking in
my little black dress a few miles to my apartment, while passersby looked at me
and talked about today's awful youth.

Of course I loved my life as it
was and did not want anything to change. I chose and organised my life as I was
privileged enough to be able to do that. The problem was that since that night
in the disco I could not unsee some things that I haven’t noticed before. Like in
those riddle pictures where you need to find the hidden dolphin, but once you find
it, you can no longer unsee it. I slept the whole day, then whole week, trying
not to think too much, not to look out the window and not to analyse things I
knew. I was convincing myself that I wasn’t hungry when I was messing with food
on the plate. The less I know, I reasoned, I'll be happier. On Monday, about
half past eight o'clock in the morning, I was going to work with poor
confidence, dressed as always, ready to continue life where it left off.

I noticed them immediately, two
of them in familiar, expensive, silvery-grey suits coming out of the still
unopened shopping centre "m" in the city centre. In a hurry and
armed with briefcases, they passed right in front of me and marched into a
parked black "Lexus". I covered my nose and mouth with a
handkerchief, as if I'm going to sneeze, almost unconsciously trying to hide, so
they don’t notice me. I've never before noticed the men in silvery-grey suits,
but from that night in the disco I began to see them everywhere. Coming out of
hypermarkets in early mornings, before the opening, entering markets after the
the centre is closed, marching in hurry into bars and restaurants outside of
working hours… it seemed they are everywhere. It’s disturbing to think how
these people are messing with our food and drinks. My job wasn’t difficult, so
I was just spending hours avoiding conflicts or serious work, as usual.
Weekends were the worst. I would spent hours getting ready to go out to finally
give up and go to sleep.

A few weeks passed in that manner,
I was sitting in front of the mirror, starring at my face and trying to
convince myself that I'm not dead, and that these creatures in grey suits were
not some fallen angels who will escort me to purgatory and prepare me for hell.
I started laughing at reflection of my suffering stare, my face which without
makeup looked haggard and older than it really was, and I reached for a bottle
of whiskey. Almost without thinking, I poured two fingers in a glass and brought
it to my lips. Whiskey for promiscuity? Vodka for promiscuity? What is beer for?
Brandy? Food? Cosmetics? Anything? I could not drink that stuff anymore. I felt
nauseous, my stomach knotted and I vomited on the bathroom floor before I
managed to get to the toilet bowl. The men in grey suits weren’t only dolphins
in the image. Ordinary people on the streets that I normally didn’t even notice,
now had noticeably tired faces, which look of obvious apathy, lethargy and
defeat. Young people looked aggressive, their fists clenched, faces scrunched,
like they are going to attack. It felt like I was in a movie about paranoia.

петак, 11. август 2017.

A long time ago, I was young woman
who smoked a pack of expensive cigarettes a day, drank whiskey and best foreign
beer. I wore silk thongs and short skirts, and I could put on make up so skillfully,
that I looked like movie star. I used to sneak out of some stranger’s apartment
early in the morning, wanting only a hot shower to rinse a strange smell from
my body and to forget that night. And soon, I would did it all again, with some
other person. Each night, other body smell, other skin, hair, some other body
movements, different habits. There is something strangely comforting in habits,
as you always know what to expect and surprises are rarely encountered. Just
because of that, I never let myself relax and indulge in routine and
predictable schedule. Once the chain of habits is broken, for whatever reason,
and that always happens, it’s terribly painful. I've learned that at young age and
therefore I’ve never allowed myself to get used to anyone or anything. Our
habits control us and each change causes frustration. I used to change my
lovers as soon as I began remembering the smell of them, as soon as I began
expecting the meeting with them, as soon as I knew when it will happen and how
it will look like. As soon as I realised that I knew unique map of his or hers
body. I used to change apartments as soon as I would get tired of the walls, and
when the look out the window would remain same for too long. I tried not to
have any habits, never to make plans, never to expect anything from people and
situations. It was almost a sure way to be protected from pain.

Oddly enough, even though I was
the epitome of unreliable and selfish person, people liked me. Maybe that attitude which shows that you don’t care
about anyone or anyone's opinion except your own gives to other people a
deceptive sense that you must have valid reason for superior, selfish, royal
behaviour. If you are self-conscious, quiet and take care of other people's
emotions and needs, people think that you are inferior to them, they think of
you as their doormat because you are presenting yourself as inferior to them.
And that also I learned very early on, in hard way.

One February night, 12 years ago,
I was coming out of “Moonlight” disco around three o'clock in the morning in
the company of three young, good-looking men who were competing which one will
take me to his apartment. It was below zero Celsius outside (32 F), heavily snowing
and icy wind was cutting flesh to the bones. I wore a little black dress, soft
black suede boots, and pretty much nothing else. My three cavaliers wore ski
jackets filled with feathers and ankle high snow boots. My mind was blurred with
vodka and whiskey, and through a drunken haze I saw only bright smiles, heard only
compliments and promises, felt only heated hormones and expectations. I felt a
warm hands in gloves on my frozen body, warm kisses on my neck and shoulders.

A moment later, as it seemed, I
woke up in a dark, smelly room. Have I passed out from drinking, cold, or from
the fact that I haven’t been eating for at least two days, or it was all that together,
I didn’t know. Anyway, some "good soul", perhaps one of my three
cavaliers, apparently decided that it wasn’t right for me to freeze to death in
the February snow, in my little black dress, heels and a set of makeup, so he dragged
me, judging by the smell, in a public toilet. To be honest, in this moment, death
by being frozen and at least temporarily preserved in ice, did not seem like a bad
idea. Long life is overrated. I tried to get up on my feet, but as soon as I
straightened my head, nausea got me and before I had time to react, disgusting,
sour mash of vomit started to come up my esophagus. I quickly turned my head down
so it would end up on the floor instead of on my dress. Still a bit groggy but
now somewhat more sober, I got up and stumbled around in the dark to find the
switch or at least a sink. In the darkness, I managed to find a sink and refresh
with some cold water. After some tumbling in the dark, I found the exit door
and entered a corridor. The corridor was quiet and in total darkness, but conveniently
narrow so that you can touch both walls with hands. Not long after, I was in some
semi-lighted room that I recognised as “Moonlight” foyer. The room was eerily
empty, and I've already noticed a comfortable couch as a possible place to
sleep if it turns out that exit is locked. Without people, decoration and
lighting, the foyer looked really pathetic, just cheap plastic and scratched
glass, much like most human individuals who came into this disco. Weak foyer
light was coming from the disco main dance hall and I could hear some people
talking in there. Still unsteady, I was strongly tempted to just lie down and
sleep on the couch in the lobby, but I managed to stagger to the big dance hall,
hoping that there is still a chance to suffer hangover in my own apartment
instead of here. Four men in strange and obviously very expensive silvery-gray
suits stood in the dance hall not far from where I was hiding. Two of them were
tall and slim, one rather short and heavy built and there was also a chubby older
guy obviously much older than the other three. The hall was in semi-darkness,
and I could not see their faces well, but I could hear them.

- "The dosage is difficult
to assess, Daniel" – said one of two tall men - "You know how it is
with people, unlike pigs or primates. Everyone reacts differently. "

- "Your job is to determine
dosages" - said Daniel- "you know who you're dealing with, you got
'Moonlight', with certain, specific type of people to control. You did not get subway
or shopping center, for God’s sake!"

- "Whiskey for
promiscuity," - said short bulky man - "I think vodka also could do. If
you ask me, I would set hormone level at twenty percent instead of fifteen.
"

- "Twenty percent would
create chaos," – John protested - "if you get contraceptives, plus
sex toys, it would be good for profits, but I wouldn’t be hasty with high
dosages. Don’t forget the incident on January 2011. And you should keep an eye
on level of apathy of the working class. "

- "You can take medications
and drugs for sexually transmitted diseases, and add it to the profit. As for my
dosages for the working class, I never received any complaints. When I get them,
I will revise the dose. Product range of contamination this year is much wider
than ever. "

- "We have worst results in
the area," - Daniel said, his voice was dead-serious, and scary -
"I'm not interested in collateral damage, that's not our problem. Human
sacrifice can always be justified and covered, there are Cleaners to worry
about it, but the numbers remain to be seen. Your goal is known, how will you
reach it, it's a matter of your strategy. "

I shook my head, convinced I was
dreaming, or hallucinating in delirium tremens. If they see me, I'm a dead
person, and what's worse, no one will be surprised if they find my corpse in
the snow in front of the disco "Moonlight". Maybe they won’t even consider
the autopsy to be necessary.

- "During last year there
were too many cover-ups”- John said -
"I can’t take more chances."

Daniel turned to him and from
where I was standing, I could see one sinister eye, yellow as in reptiles that
flashed angrily towards John. His skin looked scarred with some unusual texture,
like in a lizard. I retreated a bit in darkness of foyer afraid that this
yellow eye will see me. His voice froze me even though the threat was clearly
directed to John.

- "You're getting too soft,
Johnny boy, and your results suffer. We're losing control over the sector, and
it is your responsibility. Remember that you are only human, like those you are
poisoning, you are not one of us. Your motive is money and easy life. We can
train other humans like you without any problem to replace you in short term,
you're not irreplaceable. "

There was silence. I squeezed
into a dark corner of the foyer pushing my own fist in my mouth.

- "I'll get it." - said
John, defeated.

I heard footsteps moving away
from me, thank God! Shortly afterwards, the light from the hall went out,
leaving me in complete darkness. I sighed and curled up behind one of the
couches to wait for dawn.

уторак, 25. јул 2017.

Once when I was a child, I got a
bag of ripe, sweet cherries. I immediately started to eat them, without so much
of bothering to wash them. I devoured each one and leisurely spat pits as I
ate. I ate almost half a kilo until I opened one by hands, just out of boredom,
because I was already somewhat satisfied. Then I discovered that each single sweet
fruit had a small whitish worm inside. Although I have previously eaten dozens
of cherries, I suddenly lost a desire to eat even one more.

I live in Slatina, distant and
lone village, for more than twelve years, but I am still not fully accustomed
to the rural way of life. Switching from the city child used to late nights
out, supermarkets and shopping malls, constant screaming of city noise and
office work, to a peaceful life in a modest farmhouse can take years, probably
decades. I haven’t still managed to curb urban child in me. Still, sometimes I
get the urge to spruce up for the evening, splash my face with make-up like I
am going to act in the Japanese theatre, and wear my sluttiest pieces of
clothing. Masked like that, I would go looking for some good piece of meat, which
was usually standing half naked in some smoke-filled disco. Sometimes I feel
nostalgic for safe, comfortable, office
work in State companies, where very little work is done, but money is good. At
night silence bothers me. It amazes me that even after twelve years, I have not
been able to get used to the lack of human-made noise, absence of people around
me, people everywhere closely around me. I miss a feeling of not being alone
even if you feel lonely, even if you do not see anyone nearby. Growling
engines on the roads, chairs scraping the floors somewhere and slamming steps
from the apartment above mine, shouts from the street and from the hallway of
the building… All those sounds telling me "you're not really alone."
It tells me that people around me, humanity is around me. You know, it was a
nice feeling, a feeling that you're not really alone, even if you are.

Did you notice how many horror
films begin in some deserted area, somewhere behind God’s back, somewhere where
there are no other people except the main characters and possibly a killer?
Notice how many horror movies begin with a group of young people who went on a
trip to a place where they hope that nobody would disturb them, and not a soul
around? Abandoned, quiet town is a place where terrible things happen. I can
confirm that it isn’t so. Terrible things happen also in the middle of a large
city, in suburbs, or urban areas. The
horrors are happening in front of people who do not want to notice it, as it is
easier not to see what was next to them and around them if that is something
horrible. When you are screaming in someone’s face and that someone is checking
the messages on cell phone, it’s more horrifying than screaming when no one is
around.

I got up from bed at five o'clock in the
morning, went to feed chickens and water the garden, then to hoe some plants. I
like to work with vegetables and fruits. Not so much with chickens, because
their naive trust in people depresses me. All scruffy and in sweats, still
groggy from sleep, I was wandering around rows of onion and lettuce. They look
nice arranged in straight rows. During the first months of my arrival in this
village, I used to have vivid fantasies about good-looking village boys and
their abs, their smell and wild sex with them. Such fantasies are long gone. I
don’t even think about how I look, use the mirror only to brush my teeth and
comb my hair. I laugh at myself imagining how it would be if city-me would meet
this horrifying, neglected, rural, older version of me and how city-me would
hate what I see. I stick my hands in the soil, grabbing between earthworms and roaches.
The sun has not risen yet.